


Will Graham in Drag

by LikeABear



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drag Show, Eyesex, Hannibal blowjobs, Hannibal likes it, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Will Graham hates it, Will Graham in fishnets, but he also likes it, everyone loves Will in drag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 22:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10423389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeABear/pseuds/LikeABear
Summary: Poor Will gets guilted into dressing in drag. He's awkward and has no idea what he's doing when he's shoved out onto stage at a bar, but Hannibal is in the crowd watching. The more Will moves, the more intense it gets. Until neither of them can take it anymore.Complete one shot





	

 

Will Graham hated everything about today. He had woken up and was out of coffee. The water in his shower took too long to heat, so he had showered briskly in the stark coldness, leaving his hair limp and curling about his face. He had not even been able to rouse the dogs from their lazy heap on his living room floor. It was cold and bitter and winter outside and he wanted to get up no more than they did. But they didn’t have to go to work. They didn’t catch serial killers for a living.

When he had walked into the FBI office, clutching a poorly brewed coffee from the gas station, he was unnerved by an onslaught of cheery smiles and shocked by the oddity of Zeller and Price milling around in party hats. Jack was in the midst of hanging a banner across the laboratory window and Will read it with a growing sense of unease.

_Happy Birthday Alana!_

Good God.

He had forgotten Alana’s birthday. There was a small mound of presents piled on a nearby table and Price was leering hopefully at a tray of cupcakes. One of which was topped with a solitary red candle.

Oh, Christ. No.

And when Alana had opened each gift (that was not Will’s) and thanked everyone (who was not Will) for their kindness, Will attempted to slink backwards into the hallway and out of sight.

It was not that easy.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Katz asked, sliding between Will and the exit door. She held a small cup of orange juice in her hand and swirled it absentmindedly.

“Tonight?” Will asked without being able to subdue his grimace.

“We’re going for drinks,” Katz reminded him, eyeing him as though she knew he had not only forgotten, but had never logged it away in his brain as anything of importance.

Another voice came from behind him. “You forgot.”

Will shut his eyes, wishing he had just stayed in bed in the first place. Then he opened them and turned.

“Alana,” he said, forcing a smile, “Happy Birthday.”

She nodded. “You can just say you forgot you know.”

“I forgot.”

She sighed, looking resigned, as though she knew he would all along. That made it worse. That he was expected to disappoint. “It’s all right.”

“No it’s not,” Katz said, throwing Will a fiery look. “You’re coming for drinks tonight.”

“I -“ he started, beginning to pull one of his many excuses for social events out of thin air. He had a knack for that. It was a gift, really.

“You owe me...a birthday present,” Alana cut in, smiling now, “and I know just what I want.”

Katz snorted.

Will had felt guilty, and ansty to get out of the conversation as quickly as possible, so he had agreed.

“You really going?” Zeller had asked, cupcake in hand. A crumb fell onto the floor. He had a bit of icing on his lip.

Will grimaced, his excuse so close to the tip of his tongue, but only nodded. If only he had used it. If only he had stayed in bed.

 

* * *

 

Will could have taken the sum of all things awful about today and, still, they would not have added up to this moment. This horrible, humiliating moment.

“Alana, this is not what I had in mind when you asked me for a present,” he grumbled and faced the mirror.

It was him, of course. He wasn’t that insane. But it was also so not Will Graham. He was wearing a black corset, studded, as if the concept of a corset alone wasn’t bad enough, they had added the studs for _flare_ , with tight black shorts ( _knickers, the woman had called them. Knickers._ ), a garter belt that clipped to thigh-high fishnet stockings, all topped off with a pair of black leather pumps. His hair was its usual muss, and his beard scruff was all still intact, his glasses in place, but the lipstick and glittering blue eye-shadow were not Will Graham, and the heavy sweeps of bright pink blush on each cheekbone were not Will Graham either.

“You look great!” she said from behind him and he looked back to her. Alana was also in drag. Her hair was done up in a tight, low ponytail at the nape of her neck, giving the appearance, from the front anyway, of a man’s short haircut. She wore a suit and tie and a fake mustache.

“The shorts are tight.”

“The knickers?” Alana looked down, checking them. She blinked once before quickly averting her eyes, choosing to fidget with her tie instead. She cleared her throat. “It’s not bad.”

“Alana—“

“Come on, I’m dressed up, too,” she said and then looked down at her own ensemble. “Jacket on or off?”

“It’s different and you know it,” he grumbled, checking back to himself in the mirror. The top of his chest shifted beneath the stiff corset, his nipples brushing the very top of it as they peeked from under the satin and he shuddered and turned away. “Why would you even want to do this?”

“Off,” she agreed to herself, shrugging the jacket off and exposing the vest and white collared shirt underneath. When she faced him again, she shrugged sheepishly. “Always thought it would be fun. And I’m only turning thirty-five once. Figured if I was going to do something wildly out of character, now was the time.”

“But why me?”

Alana bent and picked up a pink, feathered boa from a nearby chaise. She smirked at him as she brought herself back to standing and held the boa out to him. “Because you forgot my birthday.”

There was a knock on the door of the small dressing room they inhabited.

“It’s time, honey!” a cheery voice came.

Alana smiled again to Will and grabbed his hand.

He closed his eyes, wincing. He hated _everything_ about today.

 

* * *

  

The queen who had knocked on the door led them down the dark hallway behind the stage, telling them both how fabulous they looked and bemoaning the fact that Will had not opted for a wig to match the boa. Will clicked his heels behind Alana, feeling mortified and a little sick. Thank God the hall was empty. Not that it mattered, because soon he would be walking down a runway in full drag next to Alana.

At least, that’s what he assumed they were doing. He supposed he should have verified the detail of what _exactly_ he would be expected to accomplish on stage when she had initially forced him into this. Of course, at the time, he had been too hung up on the part where he had to dress like a woman.

“So, you’re up first. Then me,” Alana was saying. They had come up to the DJ booth to the right of the stage. Will was still far enough from the stage to remain hidden from view by the black surrounding curtain. But Alana was closer and peeked around the thick veil of velvet at the crowd. “Oh, Dr. Lector’s here!” she added happily.

“Wait-what?” Will stammered.

The music, loud and incessant, was pumping-- thumping, even. Will could feel the actual walls moving in vibration with the bass.

“I picked a song for you,” she continued, her voice sounding too low and too far away for Will to make out. Or, maybe it was him that was too far away. Too far out there to make logic out what she was telling him.

He blinked, beams of pink, purple and green light were filtering in through the curtain, breaking the darkness of back stage. His ears thrummed from the bouncing beat of the song.

“What?” he repeated, shouting now to be heard. He was feeling light-headed. He put a hand out to the partition to steady himself and almost tripped as he gripped what he had thought was solid wall but was in fact the swaying curtain.

“Easy on those, heels, honey,” the drag queen laughed and Will looked up to her with wide, bewildered eyes. When had she gotten here?

Alana placed a hand on his arm and he looked down to it, swallowing hard.

“Are you okay?” she mouthed but no sound came. Will stared down at her hand, unable to feel the weight of it on his arm. He forced a deep breath. He was going numb. Then a new song started, jolting him as it blared from the sound speakers around them.

OOOH, BABY, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S WORTH?

“You’re up!” the queen called and yanked Will forward. He gave Alana one fleeting, panicked look before he was thrown out onto the stage at the front of the bar she had dragged him to on her birthday. The drag show bar.

OOOH, HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH.

Will stood there, blinded by the laser-like lights from the stage blasting at him from all angles and drenching his body in neon.

THEY SAY IN HEAVEN, LOVE COMES FIRST.

His eyes adjusted. Slowly, faces in the crowd were forming. In the second row he could make out his co-workers: Jack, putting his hand to his face and shaking his head, Zeller, with his phone out, snapping a picture, Price, spilling his drink on his shirt in startled surprise, Katz, mouth open in blank shock.

And there, closest to the stage, was Dr. Hannibal Lector. He was in one of his signature suits, tightly buttoned up, and looking like the epitome of posh and class. And he was studying Will donned in a studded corset and thigh-high fishnets and Will wanted to _die_.

WE’LL MAKE HEAVEN A PLACE ON EARTH!

Katz stood, her hands cupping her mouth. “Dance, Will!” she called out, raising her eyebrows and moving her hands to indicate he should do something.

Will steadied himself, his heart now pounding behind his ribcage, his breath light and quick. His eyes caught Dr. Lector’s and Dr. Lector leaned back into his chair, his hands folded neatly in his lap as he looked up expectantly at Will.

OOOH, HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH.

Keyboard rifts blared and Will bit his lower lip, forcing himself to move. He had to move. It was either move or faint. And, between the two options at the moment, attempting to dance to this song on stage in a drag bar in front of colleagues and strangers was the better choice.

He put his hand to the feathered boa and lifted it from where it hung at his side. No idea what he was doing, he twirled it at his side feebly.

Someone in the crowd laughed.

Oh God.

He cleared his throat a little and tapped his foot. Tap, tap, tap, tap. At this sudden participation with the song, the spotlight found him, blinding him once more. He twirled the boa again, putting a hand on his hip and hoping to God he didn’t look as ridiculous as he felt.

“Yeah!!” someone cried from the crowd and Will let out a strangled laugh, somewhere between relief and alarm. He decided he shouldn’t just stand in one spot. So he walked. He clicked his way down to one side of the stage, twirling his boa next to him. When he reached the end, he turned back. He spotted Alana at the other end, still concealed from the audience by the curtain, smiling and clapping in delight. She looked so pleased that Will gave a small smile, unable to help himself.

All right, he could do this.

He added a bit of a strut to his walk back to the center of the stage. Hand on his hip, he faced the crowd and flicked the boa over his left shoulder. They whooped encouragingly. The lights shifted and he could see his group from the FBI once more, all laughing and clapping and raising their glasses to him. Supportive. Cheering him on.

Then there was Hannibal. Center amongst the boisterous crowd, sitting very still and very quiet. People were standing up around him, arms flailing as they danced along and applauded. Hannibal remained stoic. Hands still folded, face composed as he straightened up in his chair, and his eyes… his eyes followed Will as he moved, back and forth on the stage, trained solely on him.

Will swallowed, looking down and away from Hannibal’s gaze. Unsure of what to do next, he bent at the waist, his hands sliding down the netting of his stockings, grazing the bumps of his knees and planes of his shins. When he looked back up, fingers touching the floor and legs braced apart, Hannibal’s eyes were on him.

And so they stayed. Every time Will found Hannibal in the crowd during his routine, those dark brown eyes locked with his own. So much so that Will no longer felt as though dozens of people were watching him. No, this was more intimate. Like he was on stage, in the spotlight, and only Hannibal was there. Lone and quiet. And watching.

Will turned around quickly. He was sweating now. He pulled the boa off of him and threw it to the ground. Another round of whoops, and “oh yeahs!” came from the crowd. He ran a hand into his hair, panting for breath, then another. The muscles in his back clenched. A bead of sweat ran between the space of his shoulders. He could feel Hannibal’s stare on the back of him, feel those eyes trailing down, following that droplet as it crept along his skin. Knowing that even now, even in this crowded room, Hannibal was fixated on him alone….

The tightness in his knickers worsened.

_Christ._

Will turned back, his hands still knotted in his hair. He brought them slowly down the back of his neck and rested them at his shoulders. His chest rose out of the corset as he took in a breath and closed his eyes, tilting his face up towards the spotlight.

_Fuck._ This was worse. He could feel Hannibal, still. Feel the glare of his gaze on him as Will stood there: chest out, cock hard, and head leaned back into the cup of his hands.

The last few beats of the song faded out and then the lights went dark around him.

_Thank God._

Will clicked off the stage, his legs shaking. There were cheers.

“Oh my God! Will!” Alana exclaimed as he strode past her. He didn’t even look at her. He had to get out of here. He had to get the hell out of these clothes.

He made it halfway down the hallway when he heard his voice.

“That was quite a show.”

Will kept his eyes from Hannibal, opting instead to stare at the floor.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Will’s voice was ragged, as though he had just run a mile.

“But you saw me in the audience.” It was not a question.

Will nodded. He didn’t know what else to do so he kept on nodding. His glasses slipped down his nose and he fixed them.

Hannibal stepped closer. “How did it make you feel, Will?”

_Fuck._

Will put a hand to cover his crotch. “Cross-dressing?” he asked.

Hannibal smiled and took another step. “Sometimes we can only allow ourselves to be seen when we feel as though no one will notice.”

Will choked out a laugh.

“I’m pretty sure people noticed this.” He gestured to the corset.

“Dressing up is an instrument of distraction, is it not?” Hannibal theorized softly with another step.

“I’m not looking for a therapy session, Dr. Lector,” Will stammered, looking up and shocked to find Hannibal so close, he inhaled a sharp breath.

He was within arms reach. Will could put out a hand and touch him. If he wanted to. He could reach out and grab that smartly tucked tie and pull him to him. He could muss up that perfectly combed hair, wipe that smirk off of his smug face… if he wanted to.

The room left in his knickers was obsolete. He was hard. Harder than he had been on stage. His cock pressed against the tight pleather of women’s underwear and Hannibal was so fucking close and so fucking buttoned up, Will’s hands started to shake.

He put one up to his face, covering it. _What the fuck was happening to him?_

“What is it you’re looking for, Will?”

Will shook his head. “I’m not... I just... Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop staring at me,” Will ground out.

“Is that what you want?”

Will’s cock twitched. He let his hand drop and there, again, were the brown eyes, so starkly alight amid the calm of Lector’s face and staring ruthlessly. Reading him. Seeing him. And Will could take no more.

He shoved himself onto Lector, crashing into him with one hand around the back of Hannibal’s neck and the other fisting into that fucking tie. “No, that’s not what I want,” he managed to get out before he let his mouth open and clumsily find Hannibal’s, his teeth dragging across Hannibal’s lips until their mouths met. He could feel Lector’s surprise. Could feel the small lurch backwards as Will had thrust himself upon him. But then Hannibal was kissing back. There was tongue where there hadn’t been, moving forcefully into Will’s mouth and licking the back of Will’s teeth and Will groaned at the tease of it. He pushed Hannibal back further, down the remainder of the hallway, trying to find the dressing room door without having to take his mouth from him.

Blissfully, Hannibal found the doorknob. His hand behind him, he gave it a forceful turn and in they went, tangled in each other, kissing wildly.

Will shut the door behind him, breaking away to breathe. He looked up to the ceiling, panting harder now as Hannibal moved down to Will’s throat, trailing it with teeth and tongue.

_Fuck._

“Shut the light,” Will breathed, inhaling deeply and staring up at the stark high hats above them.

Hannibal bit his collarbone. “Absolutely not.”

Will moaned and put his hands to Hannibal’s hair, pulling it out of its perfect state. “Do you like me like this, Dr. Lector?” he asked, “Do you like seeing me like this?”

Hannibal licked the length of Will’s sternum and looked up, his lower lip caught on the skin of Will’s chest. There was lipstick on it. “I would like to see you in much less than this.”

Will nodded anxiously, fisting his hands harder into Hannibal’s hair. He closed his own eyes and leaned down, pressing his mouth to Hannibal’s lips and kissing him there.

“Make me come,” he mumbled into Hannibal’s mouth, “I had to watch you stare at me on that stage, driving me crazy. Making me do this,” he kissed him harder, his tongue slipping past parted lips, tasting, before pulling out again. “You asked me what I want. Make me come.”

Hannibal was already in motion. His hands ran up the back of the corset, unzipping it from Will’s torso so that the whole of his chest was exposed. Hannibal trailed down it, down the hollow of his chest and the grooves of Will’s stomach, down to the small, straining black knickers Will had hated so much and pulled them down.

Will was freed. The length of his cock bounded from under the restraining fabric and he gasped, his breath coming faster. The knickers sat taut and stretched across his thighs, their tiny clips still suspending his stockings.

“Wait,” he panted, pulling at the shoulders of Hannibal’s jacket. Pulling him back up and to him.

“I’ve waited long enough, Will,” Hannibal’s voice came. Will could feel Hannibal’s breath against his skin and he kissed him, his face pressing firmly against Lector’s, pushing him back and to the mirrored wall of the dressing room. Pushing him down so that Lector fell back into the chaise lounge.

Hannibal broke free, his lips leaving Will’s as he dropped into the cushions on his back. Then Hannibal grabbed Will by the tight waistband of those tiny knickers and brought Will to his mouth, his lips brushing over him before taking him in.

Will leaned himself into the chaise, into Hannibal. His knees parted, making room for Hannibal to hold him, for him to put a fishnetted knee to the cushion of the chair and straddle Hannibal’s face. He let Hannibal suck him. Let him taste and lick. He could feel the back teeth in Hannibal’s mouth along the side of his dick match with the pull of Hannibal’s throat. The sensation of it taking over him. It was not just head. It was not just head from a _man_. It was Hannibal. The feeling of Hannibal around him. The feeling of his dick down Hannibal’s throat. Wet and hot and—

“Ahh,” he gasped, fingers clenching Hannibal’s hair, now thoroughly, rightfully, mussed.

“Will,” Hannibal answered, his hand wrapping around the base of Will’s erection. His face flushed and he took Will in deeper. “Come.”

Will’s hips jerked. “Yes,” he breathed, “Okay, yes.”

Hands clenched around his hips, and Will let himself fuck Hannibal. Let himself thrust and pull into that perfectly prim mouth. Until, finally, he came. Short, incredible bursts, punctuated by his own staccato breath. He came into Hannibal’s mouth and then collapsed on top of him.

They lay there breathing against one another and Hannibal wiped idly at the corner of his lips, making the gesture look strangely elegant. Then he put them to Will’s hair.

“I see you, Will,” Hannibal said, a hand brushing up to Will’s face. “And you see me. When we think no one will notice, we see each other.”

Will nodded against his chest. “Yes.” It was true. Fuck, was it true. “But…” he added.

“What is it?” Hannibal asked.

Will propped himself up on his elbow, surveying Hannibal beneath him. “I hope you know I’m never dressing up like this again.”

Hannibal tilted his head, looking off to the side smugly. “We shall see.”

Will frowned, but lowered his head back down to the soft rise and fall of Hannibal’s chest once more. He supposed Hannibal would end up being right about that, too. That there was much more of what they had done—corset or not—in their future. But for now, he only wanted to lie there and enjoy a moment of today that he most definitely did _not_ hate, while no one else could notice.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I drank some wine and then sat down and wrote this. I was into it. I woke up the next morning and was surprised it wasn't a total mess so I figured what the heck, I'll post it. I've never written a Hannibal fic before. And I'm only half way into season 2 but I'm deep into the Hannigram ship so naturally it was my go-to for a late night, drunken smutty drag fic. 
> 
>  
> 
> There's a very short playlist, if you're interested:
> 
> Heaven is A Place On Earth - Belinda Carlisle  
> Andrew in Drag - The Magnetic Fields  
> Man, I Feel Like a Woman - Shania Twain. (ok, so this one doesn't really fit but its what I had in my head as the song Alana was going to dance to on stage)


End file.
